Chapter 2
Goldie
Oh, sweet Jesus, Mary, and Joseph , I have never felt this level of relief when I finally get to use the restroom after hours and hours of hiding in Davis’s truck. I stand in front of the large mirror after I’m done washing my hands and unbutton Davis’s flannel, then lift my shirt to just below my breasts. I rub my hands over the itchy, pink stretch marks zig-zagging across my belly, the skin thin and angry, especially around my belly button. It won’t be too much longer until the baby is here, and I hope like hell I make it to Dallas before then.
I’m not sure what I’m going to do after I give birth—how I’m going to provide for my baby without having to lean on Dad too much since I know he’s struggling to make ends meet by himself. How he’s going to take us on as well until I can find childcare and a job…I’ll just have to figure it out as I go. Try to keep a positive attitude. It’s increasingly harder to do the closer I get to giving birth, but I still have to try for my baby’s sake as much as mine.
Davis greets me just outside the restroom, and I’m momentarily struck speechless at the sight of him. He’s a western wet dream, dressed in a blue and white plaid flannel tucked into dark blue jeans with a silver belt buckle on his brown leather belt that matches his much-loved cowboy boots. Before, he was menacing, with his green eyes narrowed to slits and shadowed by the brim of his faded, blue star baseball cap, his light, golden brown hair peeking out from along the edges, with his jaw muscles rippling in his stubbly cheeks as he yelled at me. Even then, I could tell how ruggedly handsome he was. But now, with his expression more relaxed, his good looks hit me like a Mack Truck. That thought makes me want to smile for the first time in ages, but I hold it in.
Davis isn’t looking at me like I’m some unknown enemy or threat anymore, which is a comfort since he’s so much bigger than me. But his size isn’t as intimidating now that he’s shown me a glimmer of kindness.
He seemed genuinely enraged on my behalf when I told him about the scumbag who attacked me the day before, which leaves me hopeful that I can trust him to keep his word not to hurt me. I don’t like the idea of chancing my luck and safety again with yet another random man willing to let me hitch a ride. Add in the fact that Davis is going to Texas, too, and called me Goldie like my Aunt Lydia always did…maybe the universe is finally doing me a favor.
Davis’s full lips part slightly, and that’s when I realize I still have my shirt pulled up. I quickly yank it down, embarrassed at the raggedy state of myself. I did my best to wash up while I was in the surprisingly clean bathroom, but he had my backpack, so I couldn’t get changed. It wouldn’t have mattered anyway since none of the clothes I have shoved inside it are any cleaner than the ones I’ve been wearing for the last thirty-six hours. The fact that they don’t fit since I haven’t been able to afford to buy new, larger clothes in the last two months makes it that much more humiliating.
“Here,” he says, passing me an oversized yellow hoodie with New Mexico screenprinted across the front. “I got the biggest size they have, so it should keep you warmer than my flannel and cover everything.”
“Thank you.” I shrug off his flannel and hand it to him, then pull on the hoodie, smiling when the hem falls to the tops of my thighs, even leaving some wiggle room around my stomach. For the first time since I left home, I’m comfortably warm, and I swear I could fall asleep standing up now that I’m wrapped in what feels like a cozy fleece blanket.
Davis drops his eyes to the hoodie’s sleeves that hang past my hands. The corner of his lips ticks up one side with a grin. “Better?” When he looks up, I get caught up in the intensity of his green irises with flecks of gold. Beautiful.
“Yes, thank you.” My stomach growls, and I palm the side of my belly with a pained grimace. All I’ve been able to afford is a few granola bars after I ate all of the peanut butter and jelly sandwiches I had packed when I left Nevada, and I’m starving.
“Yeah…I figured you’d be hungry. I didn’t know what you wanted, so I ordered a little bit of everything to-go at the Wendy’s next door,” Davis says as he hikes a thumb over his shoulder with the flannel he’s thrown over it.
He doesn’t hand me my backpack, which I’m weirdly ok with since it’s so heavy, though it’s a little nerve-wracking letting a stranger carry all my remaining worldly possessions. My heart aches at the fact that I’ve lost my suitcase packed with all of the newborn clothes and diapers I had brought with me. If Davis decides to take off, too, then I’ll be triple-fucked, but I don’t think he’s going to. He’s gained a little more of my trust after this exchange, as crazy as that is.
When Davis turns to leave, I accidentally drop my gaze to his tight jeans that hug his—mighty fine—backside, a faded square permanently imprinted on his right pocket from his wallet. Pulling my eyes away with some effort, because wow, I definitely should not be thinking about his or anyone other man’s backside , I follow behind him through the store and over to the fast-food restaurant. He gathers the to-go bags that are sitting ready on the counter, then leads me out and across the parking lot with his hand resting on my lower back.
When we get to his white eighteen-wheeler with Berenson Trucking printed in huge, red letters on the side, he opens the passenger door with ease and helps me up into the cab. It’s a miracle I was able to keep my balance to get into it the first time without his help.
Davis folds down a narrow, padded Murphy-style bed from the wall that I hadn’t noticed was there before, then folds down a plastic tabletop from the adjacent wall and sets our bags of food on top. He gestures for me to take a seat on the bed, and I scooch all the way to the side to make room for him. It’s strange sitting next to this man without questioning his motives, even though we’re sitting close enough for our thighs to touch.
“Dig in,” he says after passing me an extra-large ice water and napkins.
There’s so much to choose from, but I’m not picky, being as hungry as I am. So I grab the closest thing to me and attack the food. I barely taste anything as fast as I scarf it down, not sure when I’ll be able to eat again. I’d be embarrassed if it weren’t for the fact that Davis is scarfing down twice as much as I am at twice the rate. Damn , the man can eat.
For fifteen minutes, the only sounds breaking the silence between us are the soft hums of appreciation and burger wrappers being balled up and tossed in one of the to-go bags. I eye a third burger, wondering if I can make it fit, even though I’m uncomfortably full, when Davis sits back against the wall and pats his belly with a satisfied sigh.
“So,” he hedges as I shove a salty french fry in my mouth. “I hate to ask this and am admittedly a little afraid of the answer, but…how old are you?”
I knew he was bound to ask, and I’m surprised he waited so long. “I’m nineteen. And before you ask, I can show you my I.D. to prove it.”
He blows out a breath and bobs his head. I watch him from the corner of my eye to see if he’ll screw up his face and think differently of me now that he knows I’m a teen mom .
“Ok, that’s good. Not that I’d kick you out when you need help, but transporting a minor across state lines could land me in some seriously hot water. So, why Dallas? You got someone waiting for you there?”
When my stomach protests at the thought of eating just one more fry, I wipe my hands on a napkin and scoot back on the bed to lean against the wall. “Yeah, my dad. I used to live with my Aunt Lydia in Nevada, but she passed away a few weeks ago, and I couldn’t afford to stay there on my own. Dad said I could live with him if I could make it to Dallas.”
Davis’s eyes turn dark, and he doesn’t look too happy with that answer, judging by the set of his jaw. It makes me nervous how drastically his expression changes, and I try to inch away from him, pressing my back into the corner where the bed meets the truck frame.
Davis
There’s that funny feeling in my chest and fingers again as I stare at Goldie, trying hard to keep my fury contained so I don’t scare her off with the intensity of my reaction. “He just left you to find your own way? He’s ok with you hitchhiking alone across four states?”
“You don’t have to sound so judgmental about it,” she snaps. “Not everyone can afford to travel. And I’m nineteen. I don’t need someone holding my hand. Plus, you already know I can defend myself. I’d say I’ve done just fine on my own.”
“Nineteen and pregnant,” I say through gritted teeth.
“Yeah. So what?”
“You’re nineteen and pregnant ,” I stress. “Very pregnant. What would have happened if you hadn’t been able to grab that rapist’s gun?” I dial back the volume of my voice when she tries to lean further away from me. “He could have seriously hurt you and the baby.” The thought makes my insides churn. “Now, you tell me, what kind of asshole lets his pregnant teenage daughter hitchhike? Broke or not, that’s seriously fucked up.”
“You don’t know anything about him! He’s not an asshole just because he couldn’t afford to send me money for a plane or bus ticket!”
I ball my fists and snap my mouth closed, though I have plenty more to say about her dad. The food in my stomach turns sour, and I breathe deeply through my nose to hold the nausea at bay, thinking about what could have happened to her if her attempted rapist was able to overpower her because she was left to fend for herself.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have called him an asshole,” I say with a softer tone, even though he deserves it . I busy myself with cleaning up our trash and putting the leftovers in the mini fridge under the tabletop. I hand Goldie her water since she hasn’t had enough, raising my brow until she takes a few sips, and then steer the conversation away from her dad. “What about your aunt? Didn’t she leave anything to you?”
“No, not that I expected her to. She was actually my dad’s aunt, so my great-aunt, and she didn’t…we didn’t…We got by, but that was it.”
“I’m sorry about your aunt.”
“Thanks,” she says, subtly wiping away tears I pretend not to notice.
After lifting the tabletop, I secure it to the wall, then prompt her to drink more water before storing it in the mini fridge and scooting back on the bed. We sit in silence for a few tense minutes, and when I’m in better control of my emotions, I ask Goldie, “What about”—I gesture to her belly—“the father? What’s he got to say about all this?”
“He wouldn’t care,” she says with a head shake and slump of her shoulders.
“I find that hard to believe. I know I’d—” I clamp my mouth shut.
“Well, believe it.”
I cock my head to the side when she doesn’t expand on her comment because there’s clearly more to her story.
She sighs dramatically before spouting off the rest in a rush. “Colton…he was my high school boyfriend. I thought we were gonna go all the way. Had our whole future planned out. I thought he was happy about the baby, but…”
Assholes . Her life is full of assholes, it seems.
She quickly wipes away a tear that’s formed in the corner of her eye before it falls. “His mom told me to…to…get rid of the baby, but I couldn’t. Wouldn’t . When I told him what his mom wanted me to do, he said he’d changed his mind. That his mom was right. That he wasn’t going to let a girl he was just passing time with or a baby hold him back while he’s in college. Make him miss out on the best years of his life.”
“That motherfucker.” I clench my fists. “The fucking nerve…I tell you what, if I ever come across this piece of shit ex-boyfriend of yours…” I pull off my ball cap, shove my fingers through my hair, and then shake my head. My pulse skyrockets. Every new piece of information she reveals is even worse than the last.
“Dude, calm down. What if I’m crazy? Like legitimately crazy and tried to baby-trap him? Poked holes in the condom or something? That wouldn’t be fair to him.”
I hold her gaze. “Did you?”
“No. But still, you just met me, and—”
“It doesn’t matter if I just met you, Goldie. My father raised me to be a better man than that. If my woman ever came to me and told me she was pregnant with my baby—even if it was back when I was in high school—I’d drop everything to take care of them. In my book, that’s what a real man does.”
“ My woman ,” she mocks in a fake deep voice. “What are you, like fifty? It’s the twenty-first century. And don’t you think you’re being really sexist? If he doesn’t want anything to do with the baby, then good riddance.”
I scoff. “I’m thirty-four—not that age has anything to do with it—and I don’t care what century we’re in. I don’t think it’s sexist to make sure the woman carrying my child is taken care of. That she’s warm and safe and not hitchhiking across the damn country by herself.”
“Well, that’s, um…that’s sweet, I guess. Doesn’t change things with Colton, though, so let’s just drop it.” She fidgets with her hands and looks past the seats up front, out through the windshield. I follow her gaze, watching a few women in club-type outfits and sky-high heels walk past the front of the truck. “You might talk a big game, Davis,” she says, still staring out the window, “but you have no idea how you’d actually react in real life if you ended up in the same situation. I never would have guessed Colton would treat me like that, and you might turn out just as shitty as him if it ever happens to you.”
“Fat fucking chance.” I don’t know what possesses me to do so, but I slowly move my hand over to palm Goldie’s hard, rounded belly. It’s such an intimate thing to do, touching her baby bump like this. Is this how Wyatt felt the first time he really touched Dolly? The lowering of my blood pressure? The warmth that starts in my hand and travels to the rest of my body? This sense of peace?
My eyes had nearly bugged out of my head when I saw Dolly’s stomach bulge and flip when her baby moved, all alien-like. She laughed when she caught me looking and asked if I wanted to feel it. I had no desire to do so, and not only because Wyatt looked like he’d deck me in the face if I thought about touching her, even if it was over her shirt and not her bare skin. The man nearly murdered Dolly’s father when he attacked her, so I’d never in a million years cross him. But with Goldie…I don’t want to stop touching her. I want to slip my hand under her hoodie so I can feel the bare skin of her belly.
Goldie’s lips part with a puff of air as her eyes blow wide, her hands relaxed at her sides.
With a surprisingly gentle voice after all the rage on her behalf roiling in my gut, I tell her, “Listen, Goldie. I know you’re not my woman, and this”—I rub my hand up and down, hoping to feel the baby kick—“is not my baby.” I swallow hard, that sentence sticking in my throat. “But I’m going to take care of you as if you are until we get to Dallas.”
Well, fuck me , I did not know that’s what was going to come out of my mouth, but as soon as I say it, I know with one hundred percent certainty that I mean it. Goldie has no one else looking after her, not since her aunt passed, and I’m answering the call.
Her voice is breathy when she asks, “Why would you…why would you do that? We literally just met like an hour ago, and…and—”
“I told you, it doesn’t matter. You need help, and I’m in a position to help you.” I can’t seem to remove my hand. “You don’t have to do anything except say ‘thank you’ if you’re inclined to do so.”